I've Been Waiting
by JacqLeighton88
Summary: Santana does not want to get married. Like, ever.


xxx

Santana left her office at half last seven and took a car all the way uptown Bernardin, the genteel part of the city, an oasis of upper-middle-class brownstones and trees. Black doctors, stockbrokers, ministers and real-estate developers lived there, alongside her close friend, Roz Washington.

Roz had bought her brownstone with early modelling fees and since then had poured a lot of money in making it the showplace it was. Roz had the door opened before Santana had climbed the stairs to the front entrance, and into the hall.

The house was laid out like a typical brownstone, only nicer. There was an entry hall that ran along one side of the house and from which a beautiful curved walnut staircase climbed three floors. Roz refinished the woodwork and stairs herself, and the dark wood gleamed against the marble floor of the hall. A sliding double-door was thrown open and the living room and connecting dining room behind it was open to view.

The house had a wild elegance to it, and Santana felt very much at home there.

In preparation for their evening, Roz had already rolled out the television to a strategic spot. As Santana looked over at the table, she saw that there were only two place settings.

"Kerry isn't joining us?" Santana asked.

"She's not living here anymore," Roz told her.

"Oh no," Santana frowned as she settled her twelve-grand coat on the nearest chair, "when did that happen?"

"A couple of days ago, I told her I wasn't running a hotel and she said she knew because the laundry service sucked. So I smacked her and she moved out before I could throw her out." Roz sighed. "Maybe it's for the best, you know? But I can't help thinking that she's going to fuck up." Roz paused, and she looked reluctant to speak. "Lopez, let me ask you something. Does Kerry seem different to you?"

"Different how?" Santana asked, forehead creased in confusion, "different from the other girls she hangs out with?"

"No, I mean," Roz breathed heavily, "different from the way she used to? She's still with that no good black-ass boy and I'm pretty sure he's into drugs."

"Like grass?" Santana clarified, eyes widened in realization.

"Grass? Weed? Fuck Santana, _I _smoke weed. I'm talking about coke, or crack even. She's thinner than ever, and I don't think even Kerry can have that much attitude without chemical assistance."

Before Santana can say anything, Roz moved some food to the table. Santana finally sat down.

Who was she to give advice?

Santana never wanted marriage, much more children.

So she settled on just shrugging, "it's hard to raise a child."

"It's hard to raise a _black _child." Roz corrected. "But then she's not really black, is she? Her father's white, not that whites see her that way. And she doesn't fit in with blacks either," Roz sighed. "I tried to give her an identity but I probably did all the wrong things."

"How can you say that?" Santana whispered, knowing better than to comfort her friend physically since that was something they _never _do. "You've tried so hard. I've seen how much you've tried so damn hard." Santana muttered as she looked at her friend hopelessly. Roz was tall and majestic as an ebony column. 28 years ago, Roz had been the hottest runway model of the season and now,, even with Santana – who was 13 years her junior – beside her, anybody could see why.

Roz was still gorgeous.

Today, when it was truly unchic to do a show without several black models, it was hard to remember that Roz was one of those women who had broken ground for all women of color. Roz also had a gift for language and spoke flawless Spanish, Italian and French, but still knew how to communicate with the homeboys.

It was the gift of languages that drew them together 11 years ago when Santana – after jumping from one job to another (and a number of Yeast-I-Stat commercials under her belt) in New York – finally landed the role of her life – as the sexy, manipulative mistress in a highly successful television show of the same title. Roz was one of the better known members of the cast and the minute Santana stepped into the set, Roz took her under her wings and they became fast friends.

"Trying is never enough, you gotta succeed." Roz whispered as she shook her head, spooned some rice onto Santana's plate before she handed her a chicken dish.

"I don't know what to say Roz – "

"Well, I for one honestly think you're on the right track Lopez. You're single, you answer to no one but yourself, you're having fun fucking whoever you desire for free and your company's doing freaking well. I say don't listen to those friends of yours bugging you to settle down and have kids. Fucking look at me and Kerry." Roz huffed in frustration.

"I have nothing against marriage, I mean, I'm all for it if you want to get married or whatever. Nobody's putting a gun to your head, so let freedom ring! It's just not for me, period." Santana said definitively.

"Preach. Listen, I always thought that the only thing I really wanted was a nice home, money in the bank and my daughter. When I had them, I realized I also wanted a man. But here's the damn reality: I've had a successful career and a nice house, but I haven't found a man and I've failed as a mom. I say, don't bother trying for all of them."

"I'm perfectly happy with the way things are now." Santana smirked. Across her, Roz gave her friend a knowing look. "What?"

"So blondie finally ditched you again?" Roz teased. "Like for real this time?"

"Hey!" Santana groaned, giving her friend her best _don't-go-there _look.

"What? I'm just saying." Roz shrugged. "She must know by now that when it comes to you, the secret to happiness is a combination of low expectations and insensitivity."

"Now I am offended." Santana growled lowly as she spoke what was really on her mind.

"I don't get it – "

"Oh for fuck's sake," Santana unceremoniously dropped her fork, "she knew marriage was off the table. She had long known that, may I remind you."

"Why are you here then and not in your ridiculously expensive digs with your love?" Roz sing-songed, unwilling to stop her prodding. The fact that Santana was _here, _and not anywhere else spoke volume, and she wanted to know the reason why – straight from the horse's mouth as they say.

"Roz." Santana said warningly.

"Santana – "

"I like you better when you're talking about _you_." Santana shook her head, and that was all it took for Roz to drop the matter. They've been friends for so long that Roz knew _when _to continue teasing and debating the younger woman, and most important of all, she knew _when _she needed to stop.

This particular subject was something they agree swimmingly about. Roz totally supported Santana's decision to _not _be a part of the marriage statistics. What they do not agree about however, was who Santana chose to get entangled in the sheets with.

Roz Washington adored Brittany. She was smart, beautiful _and _kind.

She knew that the two were legit high school sweethearts.

They broke up when Santana went to chase her dreams in New York after graduation, while Brittany found herself in Massachusetts.

Santana was 21 when Roz met her on the set of the hit television show, _Mistresses _and she had been a personal witness to the number of women who had their hearts broken because Santana made it clear that they would never make it past the term 'partner' in the actress' quick internet bio search.

Don't get her wrong. Roz knew that her friend was far from being a womanizer – an image that had been created by the 'media' to satisfy their site hit quotas. No, Santana had a couple of long-term, loving, fun and meaningful relationships (of course there were the casual, short-term ones) and most of her exes – with the exception of that psycho art dealer who went crazy with a steak knife the moment Santana said no to getting matching tattoos for their two-week anniversary – were still her friends, none of them having anything bad to say about her.

Roz would be the first one to defend Santana's _choice. _She believed it's what's best, at least for Santana.

But with Brittany...

Roz just didn't want the sweet woman get hurt again. And while Santana was – _is_ – genuinely in love with Brittany and would absolutely do anything for her (well, except _that)_, Brittany wanted more.

Brittany wanted marriage and kids – the whole nine yards. When the two got back together at the age of 25, Brittany thought she'd have them all: a flourishing career, marriage to the love of her life and would-be kids.

She walked away three years into their rekindled relationship when she finally realized that Santana wouldn't marry her, before they got together again a few months later.

The last time she checked, Brittany walked out of their shared penthouse, moved her own business headquarters in Los Angeles. Unless something else happened under the radar...

(Roz herself got confused with her friend's relationship status with Brittany that she needed updates from time to time just to, you know, get _the official _status right.)

Surely, now at 32, Brittany would yearn for those things more than ever, right? That, or she had finally crossed over the other side and finally accepted that her and Santana would be _girlfriends _well into their 40's, or worse, their 50's.

Roz shook her head as she willed the thoughts away.

"You know what? Let's stop talking about this and join millions of people watch _you _make a fool of yourself." Roz whooped and switched on the television. The _Carmen Tibideaux_ theme song was already playing and her introductory voice-over, the lead-in to all of her shows, had begun.

_"Tonight," _she was saying in that perfect television tone, _"we are going to take a look at a woman whose contribution to the business world and television industry has already been filled. But she is a woman poised on a threshold of much bigger things. Tonight, I talk with Santana Lopez, the newest member of Forbes' Most Influential Female Entrepreneurs."_

XXX

"Darn it Lopez, you still look so damn good on TV. And you wonder why people wonder why you've shunned being an actress." Roz rolled her eyes.

"You know damn well _why, _Washington." Santana bit back. She experienced all sorts of freaky and scary things during her acting career that spanned over five years. Santana thought she'd seen it all, but then she got brutally (some say, comically, depending on who you ask) attacked in a New York train after her role as a mistress earned the ire of many cheated on and wronged wives and women. Thankfully, Roz was with her that horrific night and her size was of excellent use in fending off the attacker who bloodied Santana's nose and almost straightened the tip of her softly curled hair.

Now don't get her wrong.

Santana appreciated a good smack down. She had her own share of legendary fights in high school that she could proudly share, but that night, _that one_ fight?

Yeah, she didn't see it coming together with the multitude of videos that were taken of Santana getting her ass kicked.

Santana – the woman who came out stronger than ever after being outed on national television; the girl who got her sex tape released and the girl who became a household name because of her Yeast-I-Stat commercial – was humiliated beyond words.

If she knew what was about to go down; if only she had an inkling as to how bloodied she would have gotten – then Santana Lopez wouldn't have worn her three grand Oscar de la Renta top, Cartier earrings and five-hundred dollar hair.

To make matters worse, Santana didn't even get to attack back.

She fumed for weeks (she _still _fumes to this day whenever she remembered _that _incident) because she looked so fucking weak and small and so fucking imbecile _and weak._

Did she say weak?

It was one of the reasons she bid the industry goodbye.

That, together with the countless, petty humiliations she had endured in the years of scoring gigs or booking work.

(She popped a hip during filming of a lesbian sex scene because the other, more experienced actress was too nervous for her first ever girl-on-girl onscreen action that the director's instructions just flew over her head. Oh. And she was a guest star for that long-running show, brought in to be slutty intern the lesbian doctor cheated with while that lesbian doctor's wife was at home sick. She got killed off two episodes later, via electrocution, after a messy backlash from the couple's ardent fandom.)

"Come on," Roz chuckled, the kick from remembering _those _incidents still not subsiding after all these years, "it wasn't that bad, Lopez. You actually got more offers after – ."

"Oh fuck you!" Santana snapped. " Offers my ass!"

"You totally did, though, woman." Roz smirked knowingly.

Santana indeed, got more offers than she knew how to handle. After than unfortunate incident train incident, producers and show runners seemed giddy over the brawl coverage and they all seemed to want her on their shows.

She accepted the most lucrative offer – which was a reality travel show.

It was different from anything she'd done in the past. Santana got to travel the world – she met a lot of people, got immersed in their cultures, sampled their food and delicacies – all while getting the kind of creative freedom any 'talent' could only dream of.

Santana loved every minute of it. The pay was more than triple her previous fee was, and there were lots of beautiful places to see, beautiful cheese and wine, and women.

The show was already picked up for a second season when, on a trip to Botswana, Santana contracted malaria, coupled with what Santana would describe as 'vaginal irritation' caused by the pair of underwear the wardrobe guys picked out for her

The 'irritation' was so bad, worse than the malaria (Santana could now say in retrospect), that Roz had to fly from her Atlanta set to be by her friend's side.

Roz didn't come alone though. With her was Madame Hendrix, a voodoo expert, since Roz believed that the infection must have been caused by a hex after an ocean of Yeast-I-Stat failed to _fix _it.

Madame Hendrix and Roz were convinced that the hex was cooked up by someone who was very angry at the actress. After an hour-long talk with the still hospitalized Santana, Madame Hendrix was able to squeeze out a list of names, along with a bunch of descriptions for those people whom Santana could not possibly identify.

After making up a douche out of warm water, vinegar and a few of Santana's tears (the most important ingredient as per Madame Hendrix), the vaginal infection was gone.

"Do you still stand by your belief that mumbo-jumbo does not work?" Roz wiggled her eyebrows, mocking her friend.

"Well something great came out of that mumbo-jumbo, so I can't really complain that much." Santana shrugged.

As soon as Santana got cleared of malaria, she hastily summoned her agent, manager and the rest of her people and told them flatly that she was quitting show business altogether.

She had enough traumas to last her until her next lifetime and the Botswana incident was the last straw that broke the camel's back.

After a series of threats and countless negotiations, Santana was let go of the showrunners.

With enough money in the bank, Santana set out to do something that would redefine herself.

She did not need to look further. With ample knowledge and experience on everything vagina, Santana decided to put up her own eco-friendly, organic and funky underwear business. After months of paid researches and a number of business crash courses, Santana was set.

And here she was, six years later, a recipient of five entrepreneurial awards, a Carmen Tibideaux broadcast and newly inducted to that Forbes' list shit.

Santana could not ask for more.

* * *

XXX

**2448 miles away, across the country**

"The bitch is looking fine!" Sugar Motta giggled as she watched the Carmen Tibideaux show with her home girls Mercedes and Brittany. In the corner of her eye, Sugar noticed her blonde friend fiddle with her phone. "Who are you talking to, Brit?" She asked, genuinely curious.

"Just Dad. He –," Brittany sighed, irritation painted all over her face, "he was just confused about the invitation – "

"How so?" Mercedes prodded, eyes never leaving the screen. Her idiot friend could be all sorts of bad things, but she sure as hell looked gorgeous on screen. It was _that _kind of face that you'll never tire of seeing on your screen.

"He thought there was a typo error and insisted that I have it fixed, pronto."

"Typo? Which –"

"Oh for Einstein's sake!" Brittany huffed in added frustration. "Dad seemed to have conveniently forgotten that Santana and I had broken up almost a year ago and he was _livid, _livid that I am marrying _someone_ named Jenna. _Someone _he swore he never met even if he was there during the engagement party!"

"Oh my god!" Sugar chuckled , "I love Pierce!"

"It's not funny!" Brittany growled.

"It actually is." Mercedes guffawed, her attention finally snapped away from the screen. "Have you sent Santana an invite?"

"Yeah." Brittany muttered under her breath, her face suddenly darkened. "She actually RSVP'd first."

* * *

XXX

"You what?" Roz glared at her friend.

"I said I RSVP'd already.

"And how do you feel about that, Lothario?"

"Gross." Santana rolled her eyes at her good friend; the effect of her fifth bottle of beer had started to show.

"Tell me you're at least feeling like shit."

"No shit, Sherlock." Santana groaned. "It's Brit. I fucking love her, alright? But I can't fault her for wanting what she wants, so sure. Sure. If marrying someone makes her happy, then I'll be there, front, back and center to support her even if hurts like a goddamn bitch."

* * *

XXX

"Seriously?" Mercedes' eyes almost bugged out of their sockets.

"Yeah, why?" Brittany creased her eyebrow in slight confusion.

"I just thought she'd be dragging her feet with the RSVP thing, is all." Mercedes shrugged, as her hands found purchase in the hem of her shirt.

"I mean, it's Santana –" Brittany answered, only to be cut off by Sugar.

"Exactly." Sugar said absentmindedly. "Santana dragged her feet with that marriage thing with you; so it's entirely okay for us to wonder why she responded first. Well, that could mean that she just never really wanted to marry you. I think?"

"I don't want to talk about Santana anymore." Brittany frowned, moving her arm across the living room center table to grab the remote and change the channel.

* * *

XXX

**A/N: ****This story will have very minimal "angst". This is probably the only chapter with drama, so don't fret, Brittana shippers. It'll all be fun and happy. This will be a short story though. 2-3 chapters :)**

**Let me know what you think about my first story :) Thank you. **


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